“THE AGE OF SEXLESSNESS” : WHETHER GAY, STRAIGHT, MALE, FEMALE, MARRIED OR SINGLE

An Original Collection of Provocative and Powerful Essay's by R. B. STUART. Her Work Begins and Ends at the Crux of Truth, Sorrow and Humor---Capable of Slicing Through Your Psyche and Piercing Your Heart.

By R. B. STUART

Part Thirty-One

Experiencing sexlessness has happened to me several times throughout my life at different intervals---and it wasn’t by choice. But I hadn’t realized that sexlessness is also a bone of contention [no pun intended] in the long term relationships of my gay friend’s.  
 

It seems to be the norm, no matter what your sexual preference is, that after a certain amount of time; 10, 20 or 30 years in a relationship---it’s more about turning over to get a good night sleep then turning over to splay your legs. Sexlessness erodes the relationship in silence, week after week, month after month, then year after year. It chips away at the self-esteem of one or both partners. I say “one” because usually the other is content with the platonic relationship, and maybe having sex is what made them feel uncomfortable or anxious, whereas not having sex for the other, is what makes him or her feel inadequate to say the least. It may fester for decades, until the partner feeling rejected, unlovable and empty finally throws in the dried and disintegrated box of Trojans, and wants out.   

In other circumstances one could vow off sex after a painful relationship, a toxic relationship, being in love with a gay man, having an unrequited fantasy relationship, an abusive relationship, fearing STD’s, the scare of an unwanted pregnancy, or the ongoing angst of being involved with an emotionally retarded man---which run rampant like rats through the streets of New York.   

How have you been transformed by sexlessness, a dry spell, A sexuality, or abstinence?  

 

And how does it change the core of who you are whether gay, straight, male, female, married or single?
 

In my 20’s, 30’s, 40’s and now, the solitary years have lengthened, from one year to two, to five then seven and ten. One year was an erotic challenge, at two years a cold breeze erecting my nipples could result in a quivering, five years; the reality of AIDS, or a pregnancy outweighed the joys of having sex, seven years; I could still feel the ache in my loins, any old cucumber will do (hold the wax please), ten years; Tampons no longer fit as I observe my beautiful, limber hands, “My…where have you been my whole life?”

 

The need for a masculine, hairy body, was replaced by a furry dog satisfying my need to nurture and love. Ironically, he in turn attempted to quench his animal instincts with my leg. Now even George Clooney can’t stimulate my desire to fornicate.  
 

Unlike animal’s, why do humans gravitate to a life of sexlessness either in a relationship or without?  
 

The convulsions of an orgasm appears to lose its shudder as we age. Ecstasy is so muted now, that the same sensation can be felt as I create new prose for an essay or a chapter in a book.  
 

Does that mean as we get older we are capable of creating an orgasmic life….so in tune with the Divine that you are overwhelmed with the feeling of all is well and I am One with God.   
 

Does ecstasy begin to resemble the vibration one experiences as part of Godhead?  
 

We strengthen that direct channel of ecstasy to the Divine through being creative, meditation, daily prayer, affirmations and mantras---equating spiritual development. Once the sexual longings are removed from the human equation the Divine can flourish. And if procreation is no longer viable, then maybe the final season of our lives are meant to be at one with the Divine essence.  
 

As our time on the earthly plane shifts gears into self-examination and self-reflection we question, “why am I here on earth” and, “what does my life mean.” That introspection is no longer clouded by the ecstasy in between our legs, but in between our ears and in our minds with our pineal gland, considered the “seat of the soul.”  It’s responsible for sexual development, and  ironically similarly named after a man’s organ.  
 

When we uncover the Divine connection to creativity and ecstasy; the ultimate state of Godhead, our ability to live in the moment returns, as does self-awareness as we awaken our creativity and imagination and all that is good. And only when you spend time without having sexual encounters does that mystery unfold.  
 

When we’re no longer distracted by sexual stimulation, fornication or ejaculation and the need to physically trespass the boundaries of another persons body, we have the opportunity to strengthen that direct channel of Divine ecstasy. And that map of sexual exploration appears to be replaced by a transformation of spiritual exploration.  
 

Does the removal of sex from our lives automatically generate a simpler connection to the Divine or make us more creative?   
 

Not to diminish Dr. Ruth Westheimer’s, work, but one day honey you’re gonna’ have to throw down that dildo and venture into with the source of that addictive, orgasmic sensation, that shoots from our loins, our heart, our skin, our brain----all within seconds. That pin ball sexual trigger in the center of our wishbone was created by the Master of the Universe, and there has to be a reason why he added that euphoric feature to our bodies. That electric chair sensation thrusts us out of our heads and into the moment, eradicating the imprisonment of our to-do list that we review, change, and check off as soon as we’re in the horizontal position.  

 

We are born with a higher vibration of the Divine and Godhead. That purity is unmarred by the world of darkness, empty voids and self-persecution that opens up to us once we shed our innocence and co-mingle our body and emotions with another. That portal to our innate perfection has been chipped away since birth. Higher Consciousness is lost and love becomes murky due to our need for acceptance and validation, as who we thought we were is changed by another’s viewpoint of us, and our ideology of self-perfection begins to evaporate. 
 

After the lower frequency, ego driven, internal fears and self-judgment of unattractiveness, unworthiness, unloveability and loneliness have been slophed away, and systematically worked through, you are at the beginning of your sexless journey.

We don’t try to grasp that feeling of completion and perfection again until we are in our third season of life, where we scratch, dig and finally dive into our roots and foundation of the Self, discovering that perfection, non-judgment, self-acceptance, self-awareness and Higher consciousness still exists inside of us, but like archeologists we must carefully pull that mud-soaked version of ourselves up from deep down in the darkened bog…piece by piece. A painstakingly, incremental expedition that can take years before your whole Self finally reaches the surface. And once you’ve achieved that feat, the work of chiseling, scraping, dusting and washing away the pain, suffering, and negativity that’s adhered to you like tar---needs to be evacuated before your reach that highly polished, vibrant, strong, smooth surface of Divine purity that begins to appear like Michelangelo’s David---as you erect the masterpiece you were born to be…..      

 

COPYRIGHT 2014, R. B. STUART. All Rights Reserved. No Reproduction of this Blog in any form.  

 

 

“Celibate in The City” - When Abstinence Becomes Celibacy…and You’re Not Clergy

By R. B. STUART
Part Twenty-Four


They tell you as a writer to write what you know. It’s not that I set out on a path of vaginal cobwebs---it just happened that way---by choosing emotionally retarded or sexually deviant men over the years, paralleled with idealistic notions of love and romance portrayed in 1940’s films. My travails into premature spinsterhood was emphasized by broken promises, disappointments and misunderstandings. Compounded by my own emotional vocabulary comparable to the board game level of four letters (Scrabble). My trust issues percolated just below the surface with fear of intimacy and abandonment.

Since my late teens I went from abusive relationships with men 10 to 20 years my senior to intoxicated sex with the rare gay male friend, parlayed into fantasy relationships in my early 30’s upon moving to New York City. Which at the height of AIDS graduated to abstinence and later celibacy. My last casual relationship was with an impotent man (unless silicone was omni present) who still lived at home (fully aroused when watching the Playboy channel). When I caught him one day masturbating to their televised, artificially enhanced, shiny naked bodies---our fragile year long relationship ended, and so did my self-esteem as it was marred in cellulite. That finale edged me towards abstinence and into fantasy relationships.

My aptitude for fantasy affairs was born when I was 5 years old twirling around a silver clothes line pole holding the imaginary hand of my “man.” We'd end the dance with a kiss---my innocent tongue reached out to lick the salty, cold metal, as my blue plastic Cat glasses clanked the pipe. Immediately, my notions of men became eschewed as they took on an air of an inanimate, lifeless object. [photo above at six years old]

Likened to a romance novel unfolding, my imaginary ideal of love resurrected itself a quarter of a century later with a handful of fantasy relationships. They were rich with sexual gratification (in my own mind). Literally carrying on a romantic conversation with my latest conquest that escalated to sexual encounters. They were fueled by suppressed longings and an inability to communicate my attraction in real life (unleashing imaginary escapades).

The last fantasy relationship I had was with Ken, a young George Clooney type who worked at World Gym in Lincoln Center. In time, the disinterest and endless rejection from my object of affection, would eventually slap me back to reality. That is after I realized my lovely wasn't able to wake-up and smell the obsession. The hope of my affections being returned would ultimately go unfulfilled and the heartwrenching discovery became apparent, that once again, I latched onto unrequited love.

Ken interest wasn’t in me---but rather a heavily painted, faux bronzed gym tart with implants. I wasn’t dissuaded. To me he was strong and solid like a rock---unmovable. But unknowingly, internally, he was shaking in his Nike’s. His silent strength emerged when he was still, quietly listening to me, and for the first time I felt understood and accepted. I thought during those seven months we had a special, equal, honest connection. Unfortunately, I was so excited by it, (becoming an exuberant puppy with men I’m attracted to) I couldn't contain myself and wanted to share with him every aspect of my life (without peeing on his foot). And in turn he became overwhelmed.

I felt that I had so much to offer and searched years for a man that could handle it, that my unexpressed emotions poured into him. The only way for me to stop the overflow was to step-back and give him and myself---space. Only a few days after we stopped talking did I realize that I appeared "needy." Maybe I was needing to be heard by someone familiar who would just listen. To be understood, accepted, and liked for who I was---by a man.

But a week later the abandonment set in and I crumbled. In an attempt to cloak my emotional collapse, I grappled with small talk, but Ken was swiftly doing sets, and the more he pretended I was invisible, the more desperate I became. I couldn’t bare the hurricane swirling within and it being Easter weekend---searched for the nearest church.

Barely able to contain my psychological and emotional convergence, I scurried down Ninth Avenue and leapt up the stairs of a church at 55th Street. I found myself weeping at the foot of another man----a priest, begging him for clarification. With sorrow spilling from my heart, I cried uncontrollably and in between heaves and puffs of breath asked, “Father, every time I find a man it’s unrequited love---no man ever loves me?” With a halo of candles burning behind him, he replied matter-of-factly, “You have to love yourself first.”

Those detached words of wisdom didn’t bring comfort or understanding, and I staggered drunk with sorrow to the M11 bus home (where I would rekindle a late night rendezvous with a Trinitron sized David Letterman).

Except, Ken’s rejection was so severe, it sent me to the cold white tiles of my bathroom floor. Symbolically, the bathroom where one cleanses, the primal pain of lovelessness throughout my lifetime surfaced as I sat hunched on the floor in the shadows of a night light. Trying to muffle my howls (from the other tenants), I cradled myself behind the closed door. The portal of pain became uncontrollable sucking me into a trance of one question to God, “Why doesn’t anyone love me?” That mantra reverberated through me as I rocked myself looking desperately for answers.

The emotional breaks of past loves (post abusers); Stephen, Michael, George, Marcello, Leonard, and imagined ones; Roy, Blaire and Ken---had ruptured. Looking at pictures of myself in a variety of ages and stages spanning my life---no longer a young, taunt filly. I realized I spent my youth wildly---and wept for the girl I used to be.

Is that me? Such a beautiful, young creature. Why didn't I see it then and love her more. Have I lost my youth? I didn't know what it looked like when I had it. Now I see--it was me. How could I have wasted so many years wondering what's wrong with me?

Believing I was too fat, too homely, too crooked, too loud. Now I see her as thinner, prettier, and all the crooked lines have disappeared. What a fool I was to spend her so recklessly.

While laying in the hammock of my loneliness I cried uncontrollably for quiet some time. I reached for my journal to write what was unearthing. I wrote about the loneliness I felt. It was then I observed my own mind, it wasn't cluttered with the obsessive thoughts of a man. The fantasy obsessions were for many years a distraction for the lack of a man----the void of love in my life. Without the daily pining over a man whom didn't want me, my dejected spirit, negative feelings of self-worth and unattractiveness became intertwined. I was finally alone with the emptiness of my own heart and mind. The more I scribed and reflected, I began to put the pieces of my emotional and psychological puzzle together.

I had many fictional relationships begin and end in my mind. Each ending was as traumatic as in real life. Aware of my regrets and mistakes, with each termination learning more about myself. I'd jest with my siblings that I was the only person to have a relationship, and cause infliction upon myself without ever touching or involving the other person. The fantasies protected me from a partner with unsuspecting sexual dysfunction's or diseases, feared pregnancy or the dreaded, awkward confrontation of clearing out your clothes or his (and asking for the return of apartment keys). It was less messy. Only one partner was hurt. One side of the story (literally). And after I woke from my hypnotic obsession, I'd wonder what I ever saw in him anyway.

As a writer I found the paper helped clear the dead wood hanging around the attic of my heart and mind. An emotional eruption gained momentum with each memory unleashed and re-lived. In order to write about it I had to re-experience it. During a moment of being stuck in a deep fog of emotional pain from the past. I came to realize while walking through the fire---that somewhere along the way I stopped needing people. The endings of important relationships, the loss, the deaths stacked upon one another until I closed my heart and stopped needing and loving others. In the interim it was safer to fantasize relationships. Ending a fictional relationship was still hurtful for my young heart, but less permanent. The obsession was created as a need to not feel any more pain or loss---I was already filled to capacity and needed to empty.

The vessel I searched my lifetime for, to pour my love and adoration into, wasn't a man after all. I mislead my heart in a continual quest for "the one" who could handle such powerful love and devotion. The prose tumbled around my soul while I waited for him. I had so much to share with this creature, where was he?

The years of suppressed emotions saddled with the inability to communicate laid dormant no longer. As I hovered over my laptop rewriting the past, the sorrow and pain surfaced. A cluster of tears dripped from my eyes and through them I found my way clearly. All the experiences and words I absorbed until that point imploded onto the page. The paper morphed into my vessel. I poured all the love, sorrow, regrets and heartache into those pages; strong enough to handle the abundance of painful words. In its silence---effortlessly absorbing the overflow of what I could no longer contain. Unconditionally accepting everything I offered.

But the more I wrote….the more detached I became from men and relationships---as the work became my lover---the memories and experiences became my muse. The reams of white cotton 24 lb. Strathmore paper parlayed my way to celibacy.

Trying to quell my sexual desires the first year of abstinence was the most difficult. The second, somewhat challenging but fulfilled by conjuring up liaisons. Years three to five were satisfied by porno….

And what I notice now after living without the warmth of a mans hand, is that the more I’m in my head as a writer---the less I feel my body below. A disconnect emerged. The less physical touch I experience---the less time I invest in (presumed) dysfunctional friendships or relationships, it severs my connection with other humans. I’m not sure if there’s a way of going back. As I still sense the trappings of inadequacies, the older I become, the more beautiful younger women appear (affirming that without enhanced procedures my days are numbered).

So instead my thoughts drift off to prayer and God (the ultimate in imaginary figures), imagining a better life, and what I want to accomplish. I ponder how iconic religious figures, whether Jesus, the Pope, Dalai Lama or Buddha dealt with the lack of intimacy that comes with celibacy. In 2007, new Mother Teresa journals surfaced, one inscription read, “….I am told God loves me — and yet the reality of darkness, coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. (If I am) The Child of Your Love….you have thrown (me) away as unwanted — unloved. I call, I cling, I want — and there is no one to answer — no one on whom I can cling — no one. — Alone…”

Is it harder to walk this life alone, independent, and seemingly self-contained---then committing to the pain and sorrow brought by exploring and loving another? Or will we as humans always crave the love and closeness of another, whether we are celibate or not.

© COPYRIGHT May 14, 2009, R. B. STUART. All Rights Reserved. No Reproduction of this Blog in any form.

“Galloping Through Life with Filmmaker Barry Sonnenfeld”

By R. B. STUART  
Part Seventeen
[original interview May 23, 2007]

Filmmaker Barry Sonnenfeld, a New York City native and East Hampton/Amagansett resident [pictured above in trademark cowboy hat] began his career in the mid 1980’s as a cinematographer. Some of the award winning films he’s eyed the lens for; BIG the heartfelt comedy that catapulted Tom Hanks to film stardom, When Harry Met Sally the timeless romantic comedy with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal and Misery the Stephen King nightmare brought to life with Kathy Bates and James Caan.

In the late 80’s his ability to paint a picture with the lens caught the eye of the dynamic duo, the Coen Brothers and Sonnenfeld signed on to film Raising Arizona with Nicholas Cage and the gangster film Millers Crossing with fedora wearing Gabriel Byrne, and John Tuturro. By the early 90’s he directed his first film with Angelica Huston and the late Raul Julia in The Addams Family. Bringing the black and white 1964 cult classic television series to the big screen. Where characters who once appeared strange but loveable to us in the mid 60’s, donning black lipstick and clothes, has now incorporated into our landscape by this generations version of Goth.

Last year, Sonnenfeld directed a dysfunctional family’s comedic sojourn across Colorado in RV with Robin Williams, and this year produced the Disney film Enchanted with Susan Sarandon. In the movie business it’s directing he loves the most. “I like to be in charge of everything…since at home I have an opinionated 14 year-old daughter Chloe, and Susan, my strong and smart wife of 18 years who tell me what to do. So when I’m directing, I’m in charge---so that’s very exciting for me,” he mused.

Sonnenfeld who’s been involved with over a dozen blockbusters during his 20 year career in film. The most popular to span all demographics of movie goers was the 1997 mega hit Men in Black where he directed the stars, Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones. And it was at the wrap party of the 2002 sequel, Men in Black II that the crew gave their beloved director, Sonnenfeld an unusual parting gift, a Western saddle. “When directing I put it on top of an apple box and sit on it…..it makes me feel more manly,” he jests. “I don’t ride horses---I only ride the apple box.”

And he hopes to one day ride that saddle onto a set starring George Clooney, since he was able to only produce Clooney in Out of Sight in 1998. “Some day I would like to direct Clooney in a film. Because he’s comically handsome and very talented,” he explained.

Sonnenfeld’s favorite 1995 film that he produced, directed and had a cameo in, Get Shorty with John Travolta took him over 6 years to get made. “I acquired the script and every studio I pitched it to passed on the film. So it was very rewarding finally getting it made.” With Travolta not appearing in many films since the 1970’s, he hadn’t been Sonnenfeld’s first choice. Until his wife Susan saw a rough cut of Quentin Tarrentino’s, Pulp Fiction. “Many actors passed on the Get Shorty script, from Warren Beatty to Dustin Hoffman. My wife was a big Travolta fan and told me to watch Pulp Fiction. After I did I was more than convinced he’d do a great job.” And the character “Chili” spun Travolta’s career back on track.

But making films has its challenges when you’re trying to bring that Hollywood magic to the screen. “It’s very difficult to convince the studio heads to green light the films you want to make,” Sonnenfeld admitted. “I have scripts I’ve owned for years and the hardest thing is trying to convince the studio to back you and make the movie.”

This spring, Sonnenfeld as director/producer ventured back into television with an ABC series Notes From the Underbelly a comedy about the politics of parenthood starring Peter Cambor and Jennifer Westfeldt, based on Risa Green's novel of the same name. With his experience in both genre’s, movies and television shows, does he have a preference. “Making films or TV shows are both rewarding for different reasons. I like directing and producing TV shows because the pace is fast. While films are a slower and a drearier experience. What else I like about TV is if you direct a bad TV show it’s, ‘no harm, no foul,’ and it will never be aired. But if I direct a bad movie…it will be in Variety the next morning,” he concedes.

Sonnenfeld’s no stranger to adapting books to screen. He took Elmore Leonard’s novels Get Shorty and Out of Sight successfully from the page to the screen. Where some readers cringe when their beloved books are adapted to film because they claim movies don’t do the book justice. Sonnenfeld has been able to sweep those grumbles under the red carpet with his praise worthy adaptations. He explained, “What makes Leonard’s work so fun to adapt is he writes great dialogue and characters, two things that are hard to find in a script. His work supplies you with both. And adapting for TV or film has the same challenges, it needs to have three elements: a good story, compelling characters and be written well.”

And this time he’s inked his own script with writer/producer Bryan Fuller for their fall ABC show, Pushing Daisies a high-concept fantasy blended with romance and crime that Sonnenfeld will direct. This love story is about a young man “Ned” played by Golden Globe nominee Lee Pace, who in order to solve crimes, has the special gift of being able to briefly bring someone dead back to life with a simple touch. Another Golden Globe nominee Swoosie Kurtz will also be part of the weekly cast of this magical and quirky series. And unlike the challenges of Hollywood studio exec’s and films, ABC has been able with foresight to harness and corner the market when it comes to quality and enjoyable programming. Do doubt this production will fall into the charmed line up of new hot fall shows.

There is longevity in films as opposed to television programming, “What’s interesting about television is more people will turn on TV in one night, like 10 million viewers will watch Pushing Daises, and that’s equivalent to $100 million dollars in movie making ticket sales,” he says.

Unpredictable humor runs through the vein of Sonnenfeld’s work, whether it’s film, television, or writing, as he scribes a monthly column, “The Digital Man” for Esquire magazine since 2003. He attributes his innate wit to his parents, “I grew up an only child in a protective family. So I spent a lot of time with adults…my parents friends, a lot of time with funny Jews,” he recalled.

Even though Sonnenfeld was a short, shy and a quiet boy when he was in school. He grew 6 inches right before his senior year. And like most people who have a knack for comedic timing whether they’re famous or not, they’ve usually spent their early childhood years in some sort of uncomfortable inner torment. Which gives birth to humor as one ages. “As you get older you become your worst trait,” Sonnenfeld observes. “I find the world surreal and amusing as it’s always been---I’ve just become more tolerant.”

Sonnenfeld an East Hampton/Amagansett resident for over 25 years has raised all 3 of his children there. And has been a generous supporter to the local school system and helped found The Hayground School in Bridgehampton, NY. In the summer he packs up his family and leaves the Hamptons for their second home in Telluride, Colorado in the area RV was filmed. Maybe he used a hint of autobiographical material….